


Heir of Slytherin

by MaggieLee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6239560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieLee/pseuds/MaggieLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a quiet child, but he speaks loudly when he needs to. He's a two faced tween who knows more than he needs to. He's a confused teen and he needs to choose. He's Tom Riddle the 3rd, heir of Slytherin and spawn of Dark Lord Voldemort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heir of Slytherin

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story about Tom Riddle the 3rd, offspring of Lord Vodlemort. That's all you need to know for now, answers in later chapters of you continue.

HP A young boy, only the age of eleven, stared out a window watching rain fall. His mother cooked dinner in the background as he studied the rain drops. She ladled the stew into a bowl, dripping some of it onto the floor. She dropped the ladle back into the small pot of piping hot stew and grabbed a metal spoon from a drawer. She left the drawer open and delivered the bowl to her son while tripping over her own feet. She set it down in front of him lazily and placed the spoon on the table.  
  
"Thank you mother." He said and grabbed the spoon.  
  
She then left to clean up her mess and give her son a glass of water. The boy picked up the spoon and then started to happily eat his supper.  
  
The boy had jet black hair that was cut neatly and dark eyes. His skin was as pale as the overcast near his home most days. The type of overcast that you read books and paint portraits with. He was tall and slender age. When people saw him they assumed that he had seen too much, or knew something they didn't.. And he probably did. This was because of the fact that he wasn't like the other kids in the apartment or town. He was a wizard.  
  
He didn't know this of course, he didn't know a lot of things like where was his father? Why did his mother act like she was just a shell? Why did his mother wear a pink dress all of the time? Why can he speak to snakes? Why doesn't the mail run on Sunday's? Where did his missing sock go?  
So many questions, yet so little answers for this poor boy.  
Oh, but this poor boy needs a name doesn't he? Well, his name is Tom Marvolo Riddle the 3rd.  
  
Now Tom was a quiet child when needed, but for the most part he knew when to speak. He had terrific manners and amazing posture. Complete strangers would consider him a rich brat that had gotten lost if they saw him walking alone. Toms clothing wasn't his, they were his father's. The clothes had been kept in excellent shape from over the years by being placed inside a trunk. It was as if someone had cast a spell to keep them from getting musty or tore. At this moment he wore a gray tweed jacket, black trousers and loafers, a plain white buttoned shirt, and a very special green tie. The green tie was Tom's favorite item from the chest of clothing, (besides the tweed jacket). It had such a wonderful shade of dark green with silver stripes to wrap around the green. There were multiple other ties in the trunk, but this was the only one that was short enough for him. There was another chest, but his mother refused to let him look through it. When he would ask her she would go into these fits, these convulsions that seemed terrifying on the outside, but in the inside it was even worser. She would fight herself internally and externally when the question arose. It was as if she was trying to make him open the chest, but also pleading with him not too. He didn't ask the question too much.  
  
His mother returned with the water and left immediately to clean a dish or stare at the walls. Tom was enjoying the meal his mother had made, like always. She always made the same thing every night and he ate it every night, but something about tonight felt strange. As if he was about to receive something he would regret. He nudged off the feeling and continued to eat.  
  
He finished his meal and carried the bowl, spoon, and glass to the cracked porcelain sink to be washed by his mother. He wiped his mouth and exited the kitchen to go to his small bedroom. His bedroom consisted of a small wooden table that had a matching chair next to his bed, an old armoire that had defiantly seen better days, and one small twin bed with a metal frame, white sheets and pillow. The armoire held all of his father's old clothes, (even the ones that were too big for him) and shoes that were similar colors of brown and black. The bed was always neat and tidy, and the chair to the table was always pushed in.  
  
Tom moved to his table and sat down in the chair. The table had books stacked on the edge of it with a collection of pens and pencils in a cup next to it. There was a stack of paper that Tom would occasionally draw doodles of the days thoughts onto, but there was one that he drew often. The doodle was of a skull with a snake curling outwards, forming an eight with its body. He had multiple sheets of paper with the scribbles on them and he kept all of them in a neat pile underneath his books.  
He sighed lightly and took a piece of paper and a pencil. He began to draw a skull, but stopped after he had the shape of it. He set down the pencil and grabbed his left arm, he pushed the tweed jacket and button shirt up his arm roughly. His arm was revealed and on his arm was the skull and snake he had been drawing. The mark on his arm was the same as the sketch he had been drawing. The mark was faint and was located on Tom's left inner arm. It had been there for as long as Tom could remember and it had no sign of leaving. Tom didn't like to show it to anyone and left it covered up by his sleeves. Tom didn't like to dwell on it either.  
He returned to his doodling and this time was drawing the snakes body. He drew its body in the shape of an eight like all the rest of them and the mouth wide open with fangs ready to strike. The finished the shape of the whole mark and then started to add in details to make it look like the real one on his arm.  
  
He was shading in the skulls eyes when he heard a loud thump at his door. He turned around to face his empty eyed mother.  
  
"Yes mother?" Tom asked her lightly.  
  
"Time for sleep." She said blankly and then left the room just as she came in.  
  
Tom quickly tidied up the loose paper and put his pencil back into the cup. He got up from the table and pushed the chair back in, he took off his tweed jacket and sat it on the back of the chair. He removed his loafers and sat them together on the floor below his bed. He closed his door and turned off the light to his room. He was in the dark now, except for a small window that illuminated his bedroom poorly. He walked to his bed and lifted the covers, he got into the bed and laid the blanket back down on top of himself. He rested his head onto the pillow and looked up at the ceiling. His mind was always going with thoughts, some good, some bad, but he was always thinking. Perhaps it was about what a kid at school had said to him or maybe it was about a stray dog he had seen, but tonight he was thinking of something else. Something... Distant.  
'What is it? Who is it?' Tom thought to himself.  
'Why do I have this mark? Why does mother have messy hair and never bathe? Why am I like this? Where is my father? Do I have a father? Why do I feel like I'm going to regret something?' His questions swirled like a blizzard in his mind.  
Does anyone else have this mark?  
Am I alone?  
Why do I do the things I do?  
Who am I?  
What am I?  
He worried himself some more.  
'I shouldn't worry myself this much, I need to stop that. It's no good.'  
Tom angrily sighed and flipped onto his side. He pulled his blanket onto his shoulder and closed his eyes. After a few minutes he was asleep just like everyone else inside the apartment.  
  
  
Tom awoke up peacefully, his eyes opening softly and the only sound was his breathing. He stepped out of his bed and made it back neatly. He slipped his shoes back on and left his tweed jacket on the chair. Tom exited his room and made his way to the living room/dining room/kitchen. He saw his mother facing the door to the apartment.  
"Something wrong mother?" Tom asked as he stepped closer to tap her shoulder.  
"Mother?" He speaks and she turns around with a letter in her hand.  
"This came for you." Her brown eyes twitch. He tries to take the letter from her hand, her grip is firm. Tom pulls the letter from her hand, he gives her a cautious look, but then looks down at the letter.  
  
The letter looked to be made of parchment paper with large black letters on the front that read:  
  
Mr. T Riddle  
The small bedroom near the kitchen.  
Room A2  
Broadway, Bexleyheath,  
London.  
  
Tom was perplexed by this.  
Who sent this to him? Was this from his school? Was he expelled for one of his fights? There was only one way to find out, Tom sucked in a breath and flipped the letter over. It was sealed with red wax and a very peculiar seal stamped into it. He plucked the stamp from the bottom of the envelope and opened it up. He pulled the contents from it and closed the envelope back. He unfolded what appeared to be two pieces of parchment paper. He read the first page to himself:  
  
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY  
  
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc.,  
Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)  
  
Dear Mr Riddle,  
  
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment.  
  
Term begins 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.  
  
Yours sincerely,  
  
Minerva McGonagall  
  
Deputy Headmistress  
  
Tom's mind was as muddy as a pond laced with petroleum jelly. A wizard..? Tom had only read stories about them and he had been told that they were only fictional. But.. Could he be one?  
Tom shook his head and crumbled up the papers. Wizards weren't real nor were witches, it was all some elaborate prank that he would not be falling for, no matter how detailed it.  
He frowned and took the letter and envelope to the kitchen, there he tossed it into the trash bin to be forgotten. Angrily, he stomped off to his room. He slammed the door behind him and pulled his chair out from the table roughly. He sat down to think of what had just happened.  
"I can't believe someone had the gall to send that to me! I'll find whoever did it, and I'll make them pay!" Tom crossed his arms with fury. He furrowed his brows to match the emotions he was feeling.  
  
Tom was disgruntled by the fact that someone had bested him, he didn't like to be beneath someone when he knew that he was better than them. It only made him angrier to think of the recent event. When he had been thinking about who it could be, his had mother walked into his room and was twitching and jerking all over.  
  
"Toooommm... Did yooouu get your lettttter?.." She calls to him a little loudly, dragging some letters as if she was trying to keep from saying them.  
  
Tom turned around to see his matted haired mother. His breath caught inside his throat when he saw her. For she was not her normal self. Her stance was that of a fawn trying to stand for the first time and her eyes were completely blood red. She was jerking and twisting in different directions, as if she had some sort of rope or chain that held her in place. Her legs stumbled like they normally did, but this time more often.  
  
"No! I can't let- Tom, son. Did you- Not another! NOT ANOTH- You must be so excited to- NO NO MORE!" His mother slipped in and out of personalities like an giraffe on ice. It was a side of her that Tom had never seen before, a more human side. A more. Trapped side.  
She pulled what appeared to be a carefully shown stick from her messy pink dress and aimed it at her son.  
"I will not tolerate this anymore! I will not raise a dark lord! I will be a slave no longer!" She yelled at someone that didn't seem to be Tom.  
"Mother! What are you doing?" Tom had stood up from his chair and eyed her alarmingly.  
"I am not your mother you monster! You mean nothing to me!" Her wand was shaken and her head was twitching around.  
"Mother please!" He pleaded with her. Why was she saying these things? What was happening to her? What's wrong with her eyes? What's in her hand? Again, Tom was low on answers.  
"Avada Keda-" She had lifted her wand to cast a spell that didn't mean anything to Tom when suddenly, searing pain surged within her. She let out a blood curdling scream and her body seemed to change. It seemed to turn gray and crack, but her screams went on. During all of this Tom had stayed exactly where he had been, too afraid to move and fearing what would happen next. His eyes were wide and his mouth even wider as he watched what happened next. His mother, the person he had knew all of his life, the person that raised him even if she seemed off, bursted into a million little pieces ash. Her screaming stopped.  
  
"Mother?..." Tom whispered.  
  
He had just seen his mother crack like a statute and then burst into dust. It was horrific for an eleven year old to witness, even for Tom. His fingers trembled and he walked over to her or what was left of her and knelt down by the ash. The only thing left was her wand and memories that only Tom would know about. He picked up the wand and examined it.  
  
The wand was long, about 15 inches, it was brown and had green vines wrapping around it. Tom carefully took it in hand and decided to do something very stupid of him.  
  
"Avad-" He couldn't even finish his words before the wand flew out of his hand and he was catapulted backwards into his table.  
"Agh.." He groaned and stood, he rubbed his back meticulously as it still hurt. Tom looked around the room for the wand and found it on top of his bed, he grabbed it and stuffed it into his pocket. Tom wondered if he could sell it, but then his thoughts wondered back to his mother's ashes. He looked at the pile of ash and felt his chest tighten, he turned his head away from the pile. Tom had never had anyone he loved die before, he didn't even think he loved her. He didn't even know what was, it was a foreign concept to him, something unknown and death was just the same. He didn't have anything left here and he didn't have anything to start with either, no motives or thought for his future. Tom made a decision that he wouldn't regret.  
  
Tom exited his bedroom, (careful not to step on his mother) and made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed the rubbish bin and took the crumpled up letter and envelope. He set the envelope and the first letter that he had read on the small counter top next to the sink. Tom read the second letter:  
  
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY  
  
UNIFORM  
  
First-year students will require:  
1\. Three sets of plain work robes. (Black)  
2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear.  
3\. One pair of of protective gloves. (dragon hide or similar)  
4\. One winter cloak. (Black, with silver fastenings)  
  
Please note that all pupils clothes should carry name tags.  
  
COURSE BOOKS  
  
All students should have a copy of each of the following:  
  
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)  
By Miranda Goshawk  
  
A History of Magic  
By Bathilda Bagshot  
  
Magical Theory  
By Adalbert Waffling  
  
A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration  
By Emeric Switch  
  
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi  
By Phyllida Spore  
  
Magical Drafts and Potions  
By Arsenius Jigger  
  
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them  
By Newt Scamander  
  
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection  
By Quentin Trimble  
  
OTHER EQUIPMENT  
  
1 Wand  
1 Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 Set glass or crystal phials  
1 Telescope  
1 Set brass scales  
  
Students may bring, if they desire, an owl or a cat or a toad.  
  
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK  
  
Yours sincerely,  
  
Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus  
  
Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions  
  
Tom was again in that pond of his, slathered in more of that jelly. Why did everyone have such extravagant names? Where was this Hogwarts and how he to get there?  
Suddenly, as if on cue, something behind his hand had fallen onto the wooden floor. Tom inspected what had dropped and was baffled by what he saw. A ticket, a train ticket that was from London to Hogwarts. The ticket was tan and was outlined with black lines that formed intricate patterns.  
"King's Cross Station.." Tom mumbled to himself.  
  
He studied it for a little bit until he shoved it into his pocket. He took the two pieces of parchment and the envelope and rushed to his room. On his way there he had forgotten all about his mother's cruel fate and had stepped in her ashes. Tom hissed at his mistake and set the papers down on top of the table. He looked behind his shoulder to see that the ash had a footprint in it. He scolded himself mentally and straightened out his work. He put the first letter back into the envelope and left the one with the list out.  
  
Tom was going to open the trunk that his mother would never let him see and find out more about what was happening to his world. Was his father a wizard and was his mother trying to keep him from being one? Was she a witch? Why did his mother turn to dust when she said those words? What did the words mean? Was he alone?  
Tom pushed out the thoughts and took the list with him into the hallway where he went to his mother's room. She was never in here, but she still had one. Her room was completely empty aside from an old metal trunk with a latch. He opened the latch and lifted to trunk to reveal books, parchment, quills, two black suit cases, a black ring, one cauldron, one brass scale, some glass phials, an old looking telescope, and a letter. Tom's heart sunk, it was real, all of this magic, surprisingly his mother turning to dust wasn't enough proof for him. He plucked the letter and the ring from the trunk, he examined the ring lightly and then read the letter:  
  
Dear Tom,  
If you're reading this then you have exceeded my expectations and have gotten your letter to Hogwarts, or you have asked that wench about my trunk and have gotten your wish. I am Dark Lord Voldemort, the Heir of Slytherin, and your creator, but enough about me. For now, you should be focussing on Hogwarts and how to get there, when I return I don't want some dense child getting in my way of my plans.  
  
Now, I have some of the necessities for you're first year, such as books, phials, scales, a cauldron, and other essentials. I have hoarded my books from my time at Hogwarts and I doubt that you will have to purchase anymore of them, but my robes on the other hand are too outdated for you. You'll need a wand of course and Gerrick Ollivander will be more than happy to supply you with one. His shop is in Diagon Alley, but you must reach The Leaky Cauldron to get there. The Leaky Cauldron is located in London at Charing Cross Road, it's not hard to find, if you know where you're going. Also, you'll need currency for all of you're supplies. You can get this at Gringotts Wizarding Bank that is also in Diagon Alley. The key to vault 620 is in one of the suitcases, I hope you'll spend my galleons wisely, I worked hard for everyone of them and if hate for them to be spent on something as ridiculous as sweets.  
  
I suppose that wraps things up for now, hopefully when we meet you'll be responsible and mature enough to join at my side when I rule.  
  
For now,  
Dark Lord Voldemort  
  
He wasn't what Tom had expected him to be, he sounded full of himself and had an ego the size of Great Britain itself. He didn't sound like he meant to do any good either. Dark Lord? That didn't sound nice at all! And joining his side when he ruled? Was he thinking of an uprising? Was he using Tom for his own gain? Tom closed his eyes to process what he had just read. He didn't want to think about this. He didn't want what was happening to him. He didn't want this life of his, but he had to live it and hope for the best in the long run.  
Tom sighed heavily and folded the letter back. He decided to put the ring on and after he had looked through the trunk he would inspect it. He let it fall to the floor and then knelt on his knees to look through the trunk. He pulled out the phials and sat them down nearly next to the letter. Next was the scale and the telescope which he examined thoroughly before placing them onto the floor. He took the parchment and quills and placed them inside the cauldron, he then took the cauldron and set it onto the floor.  
  
Finally, he got to the things he was most interested in, the two suitcases. Tom took the suitcases out carefully and opened them. What he found in them was a collection of clothes, not like the ones he had in his armoire. These were gray uniforms that seemed very familiar to his own attire in his room. There was a suitcase full of nothing, but button shirts, and trousers. The other one was full of these sort of robes that had green lining on them and blazers with a green seal on the breast pocket that had a snake on it. Tom had sorted through them briefly and had seen something that would fit, but if it was outdated then he couldn't wear it to Hogwarts, and if it was behind the times, how passé was it?  
Tom shook his head, he had more to worry about at this moment than fashion. He stood and exited the room, he went to the kitchen to grab a broom and a dust pan. He then made his way to the doorway of his room. Tom stood and stared at the pile of ash, as cruel as this may be, he couldn't just leave his mother on the floor like litter. He knelt down and started to sweep the dust into the dust pan, a tear fell down his cheek as he did so, he didn't know what he was feeling, but he could guess it was grief.  
  
Tom knew that this would shape him into the person he would become and maybe someday he would know why she had yelled that spell or curse or whatever it was at him in the first place. He would wonder again why she had called him a dark lord, but he realized it was because his father was one and that she wouldn't assist in raising someone like his father. Another tear rolled down his cheek, he realized that it wasn't sadness his was felling during all of that sweeping. It was anger, anger that he didn't know the origin of, anger of her death he supposed. Sure she was all he knew, but would he really miss her? Would he? She may have kept him alive for eleven years, but she by no means loved him, and that's what made Tom angry.


End file.
